


The Coordinates For The Icarain Sea Are 37° 30′ 0″ N, 26° 20′ 0″ E

by TheBigBadWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Heavy Conversation, Hurt/Comfort, I suppose, M/M, but only referenced, just a bit steamy really, more romantic than anything, sort of, tame smut, very tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigBadWolf/pseuds/TheBigBadWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is left slightly injured after a case and for once he leaves Sherlock behind in the mentally proverbial dust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coordinates For The Icarain Sea Are 37° 30′ 0″ N, 26° 20′ 0″ E

John reflected on the night as the black cab wound its way through London. He had been shot and despite the worry that manifested in a yelling Sherlock, stressed Greg, and even an appearance of a sleek black car John had more than taken it stride. It wasn't the first time and he was sure it wouldn't be the last time something like this happened. That and the bullet had only just grazed his right abdomen. He could more than handle the minor pain. They had caught the serial murder, saved his most recent choice in victims and all before midnight, he was very much satisfied. Sighing he stretched a bit and winced at the pinch in his side, Sherlock who had remained both silent and still the entire ride had now taken on a stance that resembled a cat about to pounce. He had been tense since the moment the shot rang out through the warehouse, and the poor paramedics had to work around him because he refused to leave John’s side. John offered a small smile and Sherlock let some of tension out of his muscles. Finally the cab had pulled up to the front of 221 Baker Street and John chuckled a bit at Sherlock trying to help him out.  Together they made their way up into their flat and if John felt Sherlock’s hand land gently on the small of his back he didn’t mind.

Sherlock had helped John get his coat off then dashed off to make tea, leaving John to ease himself into his chair and close his eyes for a bit. Sherlock returned with two mugs and took his own seat across from John who kept his eyes closed and his head rested against the back of the chair.

“I owe you a thousand apologies John.” Sherlock’s voice wasn’t small but it certainly lacked its usual muster. And the only response was a gentle hum from John. “Had I not-”

“Sherlock.” John was gentle with his interruption.

“John, it was my fault.”

“Sherlock.”

“If I had been where I was supposed to be you wouldn’t have been shot.”

“God help me I’m Icarus.” John mumbled to himself then eased up and grabbed for the mug of tea that was placed on the small table next to him.

“I am so sorry John.” Now Sherlock’s voice was small. “It was my fault.”

“The bullet only grazed me and I knew exactly what I was doing. It was not your fault.” John blew on his tea then slowly took a sip. Though he found his own routine of preparing tea to be soothing it was always better when someone else prepared it for him.  “I was protecting you Sherlock.” Sherlock took a moment to observe John before he replied.

“You called yourself Icarus, implying I am the sun.” He had meant it as a statement but something in his voice turned it into a slight question.  Sherlock started a bit when John put his mug down and laughed.

“Pompous git!” John held his side to ease the pain from laughing so hard.

“John it was my fault you had been shot. Your very association with me has caused you pain and suffering and it is a fact that is readdressed nearly every case we take on. I cannot imagine if you were to ever be kil-”

“Sherlock!” John knew exactly where he was taking that rant he wanted to nip that one in the bud before it spiraled out of control. “I put my own self into those situations. You may be the one to start them by I am the one who chooses to involve myself and ultimately end them. I do it for you. To protect you. And you’re not the bloody sun so come off it. If anything you’re the sea.” John picked his tea back up and nearly drank the whole thing in one go. He did his best not the choke when Sherlock replied.

“I don’t understand.” There was something he didn’t say everyday. John took a moment to take those three words in and did his best not to ask Sherlock to repeat himself.

“What exactly don’t you understand?” John worked on composing himself.

“How am I the sea?” Sherlock was now leaning forward; clearly the gears had begun to turn. John thought about how to phrase his response, this conversation was going to change things.

"Well let's start with everyone else. If I'm Icarus then my wings would be any illusion I had to the concept of safety, Daedalus would be anyone who has ever warned me off you, the sun would be our way of life, and you would be the sea." John, while speaking had leaned slightly forward but not much, his side was still sore. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel after the painkillers wore off. 

"I still don't understand why I'm the sea." Sherlock was more curious than agitated. 

"Because of our way of life I have in some sense....." John broke off. This is something he has danced around for a while now. 

"Fallen into me." Sherlock had finished his sentence for him. John cleared his throat and thought  _“To hell with it."_

"Yes." He shifted a bit in his seat and did his best to not look at Sherlock.

"Icarus drowned in the sea John." 

"It'd be an honor." John had mumbled under his breath but Sherlock had caught it. In a flurry of careful and precise motion Sherlock has launched himself out of his chair and lifted John from his own. Gently he pulled a barely resisting John through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. Whereupon he was gently pushed down onto the bed and his shirt and shoes promptly removed. Sherlock did the same for himself then pushed John down and crawled over him. They're faces were so close they were breathing in each others own breaths and every bit of it was intoxicating for the both of them.

"John." It wasn't a question and wasn't a statement but more of a declaration. And when John breathed out Sherlock's name the very man had descended on him with gentle kisses that quickly grew into a deeper more feral claiming of John's mouth. 

When they broke for breath Sherlock had moved down to John's throat, he worried patches of skin between his lips and when John would moan he would every so slightly growl. Their hips were moving with reckless abandonment and when Sherlock had kissed his way down John's chest he decided to do something about the chaotic friction. Undoing and pulling John's trousers and pants down his thighs he did the same for himself then quickly returned to lavishing attention to John's mouth. Now with a new goal the two had found rhythm. John was getting closer and the heat was pooling in his stomach and when he arched and moaned with his climax Sherlock had followed suit. 

Sweaty, sated, and happy the two had simply laid there and took their time catching their breaths. Sherlock, when he resolved to move, got up and retrieved a wet flannel from the bathroom to wipe himself and John down with. After that both parties had shucked their trousers and pants completely and settled down into the bed for the night.

"Damn that was good." John was already halfway to sleep and had curled into Sherlock. 

"Wait until you've healed." The two had broken out into laughter which dissolved into lazy kisses which in turn became a deep and restful sleep. And if John was Icarus then he had no qualms with being swallowed up by the sea.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In Greek mythology Icarus' father Daedalus fashioned him a pair of wings made of wax and feather. Daedalus told Icarus not to fly to close to the sun nor out over the sea, overwhelmed with the ability to fly Icarus had ignored his father's warnings and got too close to the sun. His wings melted and left him flapping his arms to no avail. He plummeted straight down into the sea. 
> 
> I used two works to inspire and motivate me through writing this. The first is the song 'Icarus' by the every lovely Bastille and the second work is Herbert James Draper's 1898 painting 'Lament for Icarus' which you can find here: http://h5inc.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/draper_herbert_james_mourning_for_icarus.jpg
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I did writing it!!


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